


Frozen Fractals

by andprosper



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-25
Updated: 2014-10-25
Packaged: 2018-02-22 12:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2508359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andprosper/pseuds/andprosper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter is a star hockey player. Draco Malfoy is a talented figure skater. They share the same rink and it doesn't turn out well.</p>
<p>Skating AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Fractals

**Author's Note:**

> Shortfic that got out of a hand. Based on a prompt I found and lost. Just a fluffy, silly AU.

“But why, Gin?”

Ginny sighed, both irritated and sad. “Skating,” she offered simply.

“Skating?” Harry repeated, as if he’d never even heard the word before.

“It’s all you ever talk about. Now, I’m sure you know far more about football than you ever wanted to know, but that’s just it. I thought we’d be great together. We’re both athletes. You would be the first boyfriend I ever had to understand my schedule, my obsession, my long hours… But we have nothing in common!”

“Gin-“

“Outside of both liking sports, we have nothing to talk about. I have lived with Ron talking to my ear off about skating my whole life. I don’t want to exchange a brother for a boyfriend. I’m sorry, Harry,” she put up her hand when he opened his mouth. “All I’m saying is you need someone who is as obsessed with skating and hockey as you are.”

“Can’t we talk about this?”

“We have once, twice, a dozen times,” Ginny stood. “I’m sorry, Harry. But I’m done talking about it. I care about you, but this isn’t working.”

Harry sat back on the sofa long after Ginny had left. How could she say that? She always listened when he talked about skating! And talked… and talked… and talked… okay, maybe she did have a point. He ran a hand over his face. It had been a long time coming, he knew. It didn’t make it suddenly feel any better. But he knew.

He kicked his legs like a petulant child and threw a throw pillow across the room, hitting the coffee mug on the mantle. It shattered on the floor and Harry groaned. That was his favorite mug! He needed to do something. He needed to get out of that stuffy apartment. He grabbed his coat and jumped into his car, driving before he even knew where he was going. It wasn’t surprising, though, when he ended up at the rink.

On the ice was where he always felt happiness. And anger. And sadness. The ice was a place where he could feel everything. The ice was freedom. He opened his wallet and pulled out the well-worn schedule that wasn’t even a year old. It was starting to get a hole along one of the creases, but it was still readable. The rink was closed and there were no practice blocks scheduled. In his mind, he’d already known this, but his nerves were so frayed, doused in anger and resentment and sadness, he’d had to look to double check. It was nearly midnight, so no one else would be there.

Yanking the keys from his ignition, he jogged across the empty, poorly lit parking lot and around the back of the building. He jammed his key to the rink into the back door and let himself in. His trainers squeaked as he practically stomped to the locker rooms. There was more to him than skating!

Maybe he wasn’t proving it right now as he growled, cramming his feet into his skates in the fluorescent lights of the locker room, but he liked plenty of other things! It was just that skating had been part of his life since he was 11. He used to run off from his aunt and uncle’s to sneak into the rink just a few blocks away. Well, one day he was spotted by a man named Dumbledore, the owner of the rink, and offered training on a scholarship.

Leaning his head back on the cool metal of the locker, Harry maneuvered out of the locker room with ease. He opened the door and noticed the lights in the rink were low, but on. He frowned, hand pausing on the guards on his skates, when he heard the familiar smooth, scraping noise of skates on ice. Who in the world would be here this time of night? He stayed in the shadows and slipped into a seat. Maybe it was just Ron or Seamus. It was hopeful thinking, of course. They both had much more active social lives than he did and wouldn’t be skating alone in the middle of the night.

When the familiar piano music came over the speakers, dread filled his stomach. He knew that song much better than he cared to. He would be the only one who would be here, wouldn’t he? Searching the rink, Harry finally found Malfoy in the far corner of the rink, hand artfully touching his chest, head bowed, and legs crossed. It had to be him. It just had to be. Much as it pleased him that it was finally confirmed Malfoy had as little social life as he’d thought, he really didn’t need him around at the moment. He just wanted to skate in peace. But there he was – the very last person he wanted to see – taking up his rink. Maybe Malfoy would leave after he practiced through his song.

To be honest, as often as Malfoy pushed his way onto the ice just after the hockey team finished, Harry had only ever heard the beginning of his song. Occasionally, he did glance back, but he pretended not to. Once or twice, he may have slipped in after changing in the locker room to look, but it was only because it just confirmed how queer Malfoy was. Figure skating. It was an art form when girls did it, but queer when men did it. At least, that’s what his teammates said. The glimpses he’d caught of Malfoy’s skating never did seem to be anything short of art. Malfoy respected the ice, gliding across it with a graceful ease that some of his teammates would never understand.

Harry secretly loved watching him, but he could never get more than glimpses – sneaking to the rink while his teammates showered, watching him warm up as the team left the rink, and attending a national competition he was in once  - Harry was in a clever disguise of a hat and sunglasses. Malfoy had gotten third, which Harry thought was a travesty. He’d fallen on his triple axel, but his program was much more daring than anyone else’s. Malfoy, like Harry, never seemed to take the safe route. What was the phrase? Go big or go home. Harry respected that.

The melody played for five seconds while Malfoy kept his head bowed. Very slowly, he started skating forward and Harry waited patiently for the words. Malfoy lifted his head up as the woman’s voice echoed hauntingly through the stadium. He spun flawlessly so he was skating backwards and looping around the rink. It really was an excellent song choice for Malfoy and his style. It was all elegance and grace, but powerful in a way that lifted the soul but sent a tremor through the body that spoke of inner turmoil and loneliness. Harry hoped he didn’t appear too eager as he leaned forward, drawing in Malfoy’s technique as he spun easily, still sailing across the flawless ice.

No one was here to know. The thought suddenly occurred to him. They could hiss about male figure skating all they wanted, but Harry secretly drank up what he could on the telly. It wasn’t just figure skating – any sport on the ice was impressive and beautiful to him. But figure skating had a grace and allure that neither hockey nor curling nor speed skating had. Figure skating was the artful sport and Harry drank it up. Watching Malfoy from the shadows was just like being at home watching, and he was allowed to wonder why Malfoy had not taken a jump and it was already forty five seconds in. Was this Malfoy’s free skate routine or short program?

The music picked up and so did Malfoy’s pace. He still didn’t make a jump and Harry could see he was conserving his energy to stack them in the second half. It wasn’t until a minute in that Malfoy slid flawlessly into a parallel spin and then caught his blade, transforming it into a donut spin.

When he came down, Harry watched him move leg over leg, his back arched and perfectly controlled. Harry smiled a little when he realized Malfoy was lip synching to the woman’s voice. She definitely sounded beautiful – her voice was powerful and earthy, raw with emotion. The usually cool expression had faded, Malfoy was matching the emotion of the song that Harry knew was definitely not just for show or to enhance the performance. He was letting his emotions course through him. With no one around to see, why would he hide them? Harry sat back once more, concerned Malfoy might notice his presence. After all, who would come to the skating rink in the middle of the night if they didn’t have something they wanted to get off their mind? If they didn’t have some sort of sadness or anger to get rid of?

This definitely had to be his free skate. Nearly two minutes in and no jumps. It was getting a little ridiculous. “Are you a bloody idiot, Malfoy?” Harry hissed under his breath.

The music started to reach a crescendo and Harry could feel his heart racing as Malfoy’s body tensed. A jump was coming. Malfoy’s expression was somewhere between tormented and gleeful as his lips moved with the woman’s next two words. _I’m free._ The song reached its chorus the second time and the toes of Malfoy’s skates lifted off the ground. Harry was sure he gasped audibly when Malfoy landed the triple axel flawlessly. No under rotation. It was absolutely perfect. Why was he never in line for the Olympics?

Triple toe loop. Harry felt his stomach curl with excitement that Malfoy had not only managed that combination but managed to make it look easy. The song took on a slightly different tone and Malfoy knelt, elegantly finding his way into a sit spin and then upwards into a layback. He had to respect Malfoy for doing a typically feminine spin. Malfoy caught the blade of his skate and pulled it over his head. Harry’s mouth went dry. He was definitely admiring his technique.  Definitely just the technique.

He was definitely loading the end of his program with jumps. Typical Malfoy, trying to hoard all the points he possibly could, Harry tried to think flippantly in his mind, but it wasn’t at all diminishing the heat that was rising from his neck and to his ears and cheeks. He was actually excited to watch Malfoy! Bringing a finger up to his lips, he bit down on a nail, eagerly awaiting the next jump. Malfoy came out of the spin that made Harry question how the human body worked and came to a dead stop in the middle of the rink, just as the music did, but not the singer. Malfoy’s expression hardened and Harry could see the uncertainty in his gray eyes even from his seat. Relief and joy spread over Malfoy’s features like morning over a snow-covered field. He urged his skates to move once more and he did a quick, short spin, followed by a simple jump, perfectly timed with the music. He was gaining speed… He flew into a triple axel again and Harry’s knuckles were white on the bench beneath him as he watched Malfoy skate backwards, working up more speed as the song began to reach its crescendo. He had to end this perfectly. After all that build up? Malfoy had to bring this – and by “this” he obviously meant the performance – to a climax. After a triple axel… would he? No. He wouldn’t be that crazy.

Harry couldn’t help but stand up and lean forward eagerly. Malfoy’s arms drew in and his skates came off the ice once more, spinning so rapidly Harry’s heart stopped. For a moment, it felt like time had slowed and Harry was watching Malfoy flying through the air of his own power. In that instant, Malfoy was perfect. Harry had all the time in the world to watch tendrils of Malfoy’s hair whip against his forehead, let his eyes slide down his thin, lithe form hiding a muscular power, his strong, shapely legs attached to a pair of black skates. Malfoy was a vision on ice. But the skates… one seemed to catch on the other, Malfoy having lost a miniscule amount of control under the force of the spin. Harry had seen enough quadruple salchows to know this would be bad.

Malfoy managed to get one skate on the ground, but he didn’t have his balance and his ankle wobbled for an instant before bending, causing his skate to slide underneath him. Malfoy fell sideways, and tried to catch himself, but his head still bounced on the ice and his body skidded across the floor, eventually slamming into the wall.

“MALFOY!” Harry had jumped to his feet and yanked the guards on his skates off. He struggled until he got onto the rink. As soon as he hit the ice, though, he was at Malfoy’s side in a mere second, body braced and skates gliding faster than he could ever run. There was a streak of red across the rink and Malfoy was not stirring. “Malfoy!” He gasped and knelt beside him, grabbing Malfoy’s warm, pink cheeks. “Malfoy, please wake up! No, no, no!” He wasn’t squeamish, considering he was a hockey forward, but when his hand came back with blood, his veins filled with ice. Harry got into a squat so his blades met the ice and slid his arms under Malfoy’s neck and knees, hefting him into his arms. Thankfully, Malfoy was quite light, though his body was firm and muscled, hot against Harry’s chest. Harry tried not to think about it.

Malfoy’s eyelids fluttered, though his body was quite limp, his arms drooping listlessly beneath him. His eyes opened, gray eyes dilated and unfocused. He groaned as Harry managed to get off the ice. “Just stay still. I have to get my skates off. I’m going to get you to a hospital,” he wasn’t sure Draco understood a word he was saying, but he laid him down on a bench in the locker room and pulled off his skates. He shoved his feet into his trainers and grabbed his wallet and keys.

“My head.”

Malfoy’s voice was hoarse and weak, but he was awake and Harry was grateful for that. He grabbed the first aid kit in his locker. He picked up Malfoy again, but thankfully Malfoy was still awake and put his arm around Harry’s shoulders.

“Where are we?”

“I’m taking you to the hospital.”

Malfoy narrowed his eyes as if he had a hard time seeing Harry. “Potter?”

“Yeah.”

“What happened?”

Harry pushed his back against the door to outside and didn’t even bother locking it behind him. He used his remote to unlock his car and struggled to open the passenger door with Malfoy in his arms.

“You fell.”

“Oh,” Malfoy touched his head and stared at the blood that drenched his fingers. “Oh,” he repeated. Harry was able to get Malfoy into the seat. He was awake, but slumped over as soon as Harry shut the door. Feeling a chill run up his spine, Harry jumped into the driver’s seat and opened the first aid kit. He handed him some gauze and snapped a cold pack so it would activate.

“Hold this to your head.” Malfoy took it weakly and did so.

Fucking Malfoy. Malfoy always had to be a problem for him, didn’t he? If he wasn’t antagonizing Harry for no reason, he was cracking his head open on the ice with only Harry around and bleeding all over Harry’s car and using Harry’s ice pack and making Harry worried and DAMMIT. He did NOT need this!

“Was it my quad?”

“What?” Harry asked, his attention having been on the road and hating Malfoy.

“Did I fall on my quad?”

“Yes.”

“I just can’t get it right. If I do it alone, I’m fine, but I can’t get it to work in my program,” he mumbled, just beginning to ramble now, but he was glad Malfoy was awake, so he let him.

“Well, maybe you wouldn’t fall if you put it at the beginning instead of at the end.”

“It gets me more points, Potter.”

“Stacking all your jumps in the second half is stupid. But that’s just like you, isn’t it? Risk everything for the points.”

Malfoy lifted his head slightly to gaze blearily at him. “I have to be the best. If I can’t, what’s the point?” He paused and turned even paler, if that was possible. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Harry pushed his foot down on the pedal. “Don’t you dare, Malfoy.”

“I can’t help if I’m going to be sick.”

“Not in my car.”

“You’re driving too fast.”

“So you don’t bleed out on my upholstery.”

“My blood would be an improvement.”

“I’m never going to get the stains out, you know.” They were barely listening to each other, trying to talk over the other.

“-absolutely no taste-“

“-look like I murdered someone-”

“-a cheap death trap-“

“-is perfectly fine, thank you very much. A nicer car would just get beat up. Besides, I saved money for more important things. Sorry if it doesn’t match your rich boy, Malfoy standards. If you would just-“ Harry stopped when he realized Malfoy had stopped arguing. He glanced out of the corner of his eye and saw him slumped in the passenger seat, eyes closed and breathing ragged and shallow. “Malfoy!” His voice had gone up half an octave in panic. He pulled into the hospital parking lot and hopped out of the car, unconcerned he hadn’t parked in an actual parking spot. He opened the door and was careful to catch Malfoy as he fell out. He carried him in his arms inside, nurses suddenly at his side.

“What happened?”

“He was practicing and he slipped and fell on the ice,” he explained and put Malfoy on the stretcher brought for him, careful to avoid the blades of the skates he was still wearing.

“Can you stay here and fill out some paperwork?” He was asked as Malfoy was taken from him.

“Yes. I just need to go park my car,” he said breathlessly.

Harry stayed for several hours, filling out Malfoy’s paperwork as best he could, and waiting for news on his condition. If there was one upside to the evening – his mind was nowhere near Ginny. He had just begun to doze off when one of the nurses approached him.

“Mr. Potter?”

“Yeah?” Harry asked blearily, jolting out of his half sleep.

“Mr. Malfoy is awake. Would you like to see him?”

“Malfoy? Is he okay?” Harry gasped and shot up from his seat.

“He’ll be just fine. Although he is rather cross since we had to shave some of his hair for the stitches. You’ve been warned.”

Harry chuckled at this and nodded. He knew what a cross Malfoy was like. Why did he suddenly find it amusing? Damn, he was just so relieved Malfoy was going to be okay. “Duly noted.”

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but are you the Harry Potter? The hockey player?”

“Yes,” Harry forced a smile at that. He really didn’t need to be hounded for an autograph at this exact moment – at nearly four in the morning in the emergency room. After promising her one later, he managed to get into Draco’s room.

“Potter! What are you doing?”

Harry turned and shut the door on the bothersome nurse. “I wanted to check on you. Not four hours ago you were bleeding all over the rink and my car. They’re going to get there in the morning and think they stumbled on a murder scene.”

Malfoy groaned and fell back onto his pillow. “Can’t believe this,” he muttered.

Malfoy was in a hospital gown and tubing was running up his forearm. Just like the nurse had said, he had a shaved patch of hair where they’d stitched him up. The cast on Malfoy’s ankle made Harry’s stomach clench. He wouldn’t be able to practice for months.

“What were you doing at the ice rink in the middle of the night?”

Malfoy’s head snapped up, eyes narrowed at Harry. “What were YOU doing at the ice rink in the middle of the night?” He demanded.

“I needed to blow off some steam,” Harry offered as a vague explanation.

“Yeah, well, you’re not the only one,” Malfoy huffed and looked away from him. “What got your knickers in a twist?”

Harry frowned, but for some reason, suddenly didn’t mind telling a concussed Malfoy. “Girlfriend dumped me.”

“Why’d she do that?”

Harry sighed heavily. “Skating,” he offered simply.

“Skating?” Malfoy repeated, as if he’d never even heard the word before.

Harry couldn’t help but grin a little at that. Malfoy would understand, wouldn’t he? He’d probably been at the opposite end of a cross boyfriend who thought they weren’t spending enough time together. He assumed boyfriend and not girlfriend because… well… “She said it was all I ever talked about.”

“What else is there?” Malfoy cocked an eyebrow and Harry returned the expression with a grateful smile.

“What were you upset about?”

“Nothing, Potter.”

Stung by Malfoy’s choice not to share in return, Harry decided to remind him he was there to see it. “You skated quite beautifully,” the words fell out before he was able to think them through. Okay, that hadn’t exactly been what he’d intended…

It did get the reaction he’d hoped for. Malfoy’s eyes shot open until he was sure they would pop out of his head. He looked conflicted, expression vulnerable and filled with emotion just as Harry had seen on the rink. Suddenly, he set his jaw and frowned at him. “You know, Potter, you seem to know a lot more about figure skating than you should.”

Distraction tactic accepted. Harry blushed sheepishly. “Yeah… well… I like watching all kinds of skating.”

“Even male figure skating?” How the hell did Malfoy manage to look so cocky when he was in a hospital gown?

“Female figure skating.”

“And you knew I was doing a quad?”

“What?”

“There are no quadruple salchows in female skating, Potter. Don’t play dumb.”

“I know what a salchow looks like. Not hard to imagine it with another spin. Besides, Miki Ando landed one in competition.”

“She under-rotated,” Malfoy scoffed.

“And you did better?” Harry raised an eyebrow, indicating the hospital room and Malfoy’s condition. Malfoy’s expression darkened. Harry immediately knew he’d said the wrong thing. “I was actually trying to compliment you, Malfoy. It’s a good skate.”

“And my mistake is stacking the jumps in the second half?” Malfoy clearly remembered a good portion of their conversation earlier, even if he had been bleeding all over Harry’s car.

Harry frowned and glared at nothing in particular.

“Jumps don’t work in the first half, Potter. Didn’t you listen to the song? The first half is soft. The second has the proper pace and crescendo to make the jumps work with the song.”

“You could have picked a different song.”

“I like that song, Potter. I’m not picking a different song.”

“It’s silly. You’re going to have to buy rights to it-“

“I’ve got money-”

“-don’t see why you can’t use a classical song like everyone else-“

“-it’s perfect for a skate. The price doesn’t matter-“

“-but you always have to be so different, better than everyone-“

“-you wouldn’t understand these things-“

“-not really a perfect song, is it, if you have to stack jumps-“

“-it’s a beautiful melody-“

“-if you would stop talking over me-“

“-hockey brute-“

“-ice pouf-“

“At least call me an ‘ice queen,’ Potter. It’s a queer insult and it’s much more fitting. Makes you sound a bit less stupid, besides.”

Harry sighed and frowned, finally relenting. He wasn’t going to argue with a Malfoy on morphine. “Can I call anyone for you?”

Malfoy avoided his gaze, “no,” his voice was quiet now, non-combative.

“Your parents?”

“Did I say that in English? I can repeat it in Spanish: no. No, Potter. No one,” Malfoy hissed, looking dangerous even with a partially shaved head and hospital gown.

“What about your coach?” Harry suggested and Malfoy’s face contorted like he was about to yell at Harry, but it disappeared in an instant.

“I probably should… I’ll do it in the morning. Myself. Waking Snape up for anything means you have a death wish.”

“Even when you’re in the hospital?” Harry frowned at him in return.

“Anything, Potter. Really, your grasp on the English language is worrying.”

What Harry actually found most curious was that Malfoy hadn’t asked him to leave yet. He had every right to. It was his room and Harry was clearly getting on his nerves. And yet, Malfoy was perfectly happy to sit and argue with him. Why?

“He does scare me a little,” Harry admitted in a desperate grab to continue the conversation.

“You’re giving me a headache,” Malfoy pressed the morphine button harshly.

“I don’t think that’s for headaches…”

“Shut up, Potter. It is when your skull was cracked open and you’re concussed and dealing with a thick-skulled hockey player.”

“Maybe if your skull was thicker, you wouldn’t have cracked it open,” Harry replied, snarky, but not cruelly.

“Thanks for that,” Malfoy laid the sarcasm on thick. He dropped his head back onto the pillow, body slowly relaxing.

“How much of that morphine did you get?”

“The maximum dosage. I’m fine. I’m just falling asleep because I’m tired.”

“I didn’t ask,” Harry kept his amusement to himself.

Malfoy rolled his eyes, though. “I knew that’s what you were asking about.”

“…so… why where you at the rink so late?”

“Potter, no amount of drugs is going to loosen my tongue on that. You think a concussion and some morphine and I’m going to bare my soul? Hockey players know nothing of subtlety.”

“I would argue, but hockey isn’t the most subtle of sports,” Harry shrugged. “But I could surprise you.”

“Feel free to surprise me any time, Potter,” Malfoy smirked.

Harry and Malfoy were quiet for a short time, Harry’s eyes skimming Malfoy’s ankle once more. “What are you going to do about skating?”

Malfoy’s face froze up and his lips thinned. “You should go, Potter. I’m tired. I need sleep now.”

Clearly, he had broached the wrong subject. He was just trying to be sympathetic to Malfoy’s condition… but it had perhaps been insensitive. Without another word, Harry decided it was best to do as Malfoy asked.

At his flat, he spared a brief glance at his shattered mug and dragged his feet across the rug to his bedroom. As he flopped onto his bed, bone-tired, he wondered briefly if he should send something to Malfoy - like flowers. Would that would be quite overboard?

*

“Did you hear about Malfoy?”

“When did it happen?”

“I heard he’s paralyzed.”

“Do you think we’ll get his rink time?”

Harry slammed his locker shut, sighing irritably as he heard his teammates gossip. And that was all it was. Gossip. He hissed quietly, staring down at his skates as the men around him were undressing and redressing after practice. He yanked his chin strap and freed his head from his helmet. Slumping forward, Harry mussed his sweaty hair. Couldn’t they be a little more considerate? Malfoy wouldn’t be able to skate for months. Harry wouldn’t be able to imagine that. The ice meant freedom. The ice was where he could escape. And the ice meant expression. Perhaps Malfoy and he had two different ways of doing so… but the feeling was still the same.

The noise around him was suddenly lessened and Harry lifted his head. Most of the team had disappeared to the showers. Seeing an opportunity, Harry got to his feet and marched out, rather awkwardly, since he was wearing skates, and back to the rink. They were right. Malfoy was still in the hospital and his time slot for the rink was right after theirs. He watched Filch drive the zamboni off the ice and disappeared from sight before sliding out onto the newly slick rink.

He took a few laps trying to clear his head.

It wasn’t right for them to just talk about Malfoy like that. It was one thing to make jokes about male figure skating here and there. It wasn’t hurting anyone. Not that Harry tended to engage in those jokes. But when they said something in the locker room or around the table in a pub, not for Malfoy to hear, they were just being obnoxious and rude, but not talking about the pain of someone else.

They had, thankfully, stopped making so many insinuations in front of Harry after he came out to them as bisexual when he was eighteen. Usually when it came up, it ended with “except you, mate.”

He sighed and skated over to the side of the rink, leaning over and reaching for the remote, overcome by a strange desire. Was Malfoy’s CD still in? Tapping the remote to his palm, he shifted on his feet, looking to see who was around. Filch was gone, the team was in the locker room… and no one else would be here without Malfoy, since his slot wasn’t filled yet.

“Sodding-“ he pressed the play button and the familiar piano music started playing. Okay, five seconds… One, two, three, four, five… start skating along the outside edge. Wait for the second line… start skating backwards… He was a lot clumsier in his movements than Malfoy, of that he was certain. He didn’t know how to hold his body or how his arms should be positioned except to help keep him balanced.

He sailed across the ice for several seconds, technique for speed, not for grace. When did he spin? Parallel spin and then donut spin. Harry was not going to fool himself into thinking he had anywhere near the flexibility to do either. But he knew how to turn on ice and do a basic spin, so he did that in place of the more complicated spins. His spins were slow and clumsy, but it was actually rather fun, like spinning in circles until you fell over as a child. Damn. How did Malfoy keep from getting dizzy doing this? He skated around the arena, skipping over the aspects that made Malfoy’s performance look elegant, and ran over how to do the upcoming jump in his mind. He didn’t have to get all three rotations. Hell, he didn’t have to get one. Really, how hard could it be to jump and spin in the air? He didn’t take much time to think about it and waited for the lyrical cue.

Left foot, lift right into the air, skates off the ice. Except his skate barely came off the ice and he fell back onto his left blade. He was able to force his fall backwards so he landed on his back. At least he still had his padding on him. Wind sufficiently blown out of him, he intended to lie there for a moment until he heard “Harry?” Harry’s head shot up and he saw Ron looking at him from the benches. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing!” Harry scrambled onto his blades and hurried over to the remote to turn the music off, face beet red. “Nothing,” he said a bit breathlessly, back still aching from the fall. “Just… thinking.”

They stared at each other for a very long time before Ron finally spoke, “are you going to come off the ice any time soon?”

“Oh!” Harry skated over and hopped off the ice. “Sorry.”

“I just wanted to talk to you about Ginny…”

Harry groaned, but Ron mistook his meaning.

“I’m not angry! I know she broke up with you. Ridiculous reason, too. Too much skating?”

“If you don’t mind, Ron, I’d rather not talk about it,” Harry resisted the urge to leave, but shifted uncomfortably on his skates.

“Oh. Sorry, mate. I didn’t want to talk about that, either, I just wanted to let you know…”

“I know, Ron,” Harry smiled at him. They both walked back to the locker rooms, completely avoiding the topic of what Harry had been doing exactly. Ron looked like he was about to say something several times, but, thankfully, didn’t.

“We’re all going out for drinks in a few hours. You wanna come?”

“Yeah. Yeah, definitely,” Harry nodded and tried to force a smile.

“You’d better get changed.”

The pub wasn’t as much fun as it usually was. By all accounts, it should have been normal – beers, teammates, football on the television. Harry just swirled his beer around in the glass forlornly. He couldn’t seem to catch onto the rowdy mood.

“What’s up with Harry?” He heard Neville whisper too loudly.

“Well, Ginny just broke up with him last night. Football on the telly probably isn’t helping,” Seamus stage-whispered back.

Harry sighed in frustration and shoved his stool away from the bar. He hadn’t been thinking about that before, but he was certainly thinking it now! Oliver, the captain, bumped into Harry on his way out. “What’s the rush, Harry?”

“I’ve got to go home. It’s getting late.”

Oliver frowned a bit but nodded. “I don’t always want to be at the pub, either, but if you want a night away from the team, there is this one place that isn’t bad. Hold on,” he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet. He handed him a non-descript business card. “Catch you later.”

“Thanks, Oliver,” Harry flicked the card at him in a slight wave and stepped out into the cool night air. Staring at the card, he walked about aimlessly for a little while, thankful that while the ground was damp, it was not raining. The Three Broomsticks? What sort of place was that? Some sort of home decoration store? Was Oliver teasing him about being bent? He doubted it. Oliver had never acted that way to him. So what did it mean?

It took two days of spending his evenings alone, flicking on the telly, cycling through the channels twice before finally giving up and making tea and walking about the house aimlessly, to work up enough motivation and boredom to go. He was actually so bored that he found the thought of going to find this place, only to discover it was a shop for housewares owned by an old woman with no teeth who smelled like cabbage to be more appealing than staying home. It was late when he went, but only about ten at night. Oliver had said it was a place to go instead of the pub with the team.

The building was brick and nondescript with a faded sign. He approached cautiously and pressed on the door. It opened. It led to a well-lit, worn wooden staircase downwards. Tucking the card into his back pocket, and hoping jeans were sufficient for the atmosphere of whatever this place was, he walked down. There was only one door here, looking much more inviting with a warm wood and the promise of people behind it. He heard the muffled sound of conversation and glasses clinking.

Inside, it was partially full. People sat at various tables drinking different alcoholic beverages. No one turned to look when he entered, which was comforting. It was definitely a pub. It was much more subdued than the one he usually went to, but people were gathered around a television at the bar. Whatever was on, though, must have not been particularly exciting. He glanced at what was on tap when he spotted the small rainbow flag in a mug behind the bartender.

Oliver had known about this place? Did he know it because he was gay or because someone else had told him?

It was very quiet and people seemed to be involved in their own business. There was also a mix of men and women, but now that he noticed, for the most part women were seated with women and men with men. It didn’t seem like it was hunting ground for the single and vulnerable, just a comfortable place to relax. Harry actually thought it was pleasant. Oliver knew him pretty well.

He pulled the collar up on his coat and bent his head down. He didn’t get recognized a lot, but sometimes… He just didn’t want to draw attention to himself. He was out to his closest friends and his teammates (most of whom overlapped, except for Hermione and Luna), but he didn’t really care for the public to know his private business.

Walking over to the empty side of the bar, he ordered a beer from the pretty bartender. She wore too much makeup, but she had a nice body. However, she appeared to be talkative and Harry quickly paid for his beer and sat down in a comfy armchair facing away from the bar. He wasn’t really in the mood to talk. In fact, he could do exactly what he was doing at home. But… he came all this way. He figured one beer and then he would return home. At least he knew it existed now. And it got him out of the house.

Harry had just propped his feet up on the coffee table in front of him, getting settled in to sit for a little while, when he heard a chillingly familiar voice. “Shots, Pansy. I need shots. Intravenously if you can manage it.”

Mouth gaping in realization, he carefully peered around the high backed armchair he was in. Draco Malfoy was at the bar, crutches leaning against it now as he slid onto a barstool.

“Oh my god, Draco,” the bartender looked horrified at the sight of him. “What happened?! Your leg? Your HAIR?!” She practically shrieked the last part and Draco covered his stitches self consciously. He’d managed to cut his hair differently, so that it was symmetrical and seemed intentional, but it still was a jarring change.

“SHHH!” He hissed and Harry flipped back around in his chair, hidden from Draco’s view. “I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Mmmm,” the bartender, Pansy, replied, non-committal. Clearly she knew this was not going to happen. Harry heard glass being placed on the table.

“Slipped on the ice.”

“Your quad?” Pansy asked sympathetically. Draco must have nodded because he didn’t answer the affirmative verbally.

“I mean-“ a pause and then glass hitting the table again, “- I know. I KNOW I shouldn’t put it last in the program. But it’s my big move and it should go at the climax of the song.”

“You’ve always been a stubborn arse,” her voice was fond.

“Thanks, Pansy,” he responded sarcastically. “I could have died, you know. If it wasn’t for him,” his voice was tight now, serious. Harry’s breath hitched in his throat. Was Malfoy going to talk about him? Was Malfoy grateful to him?

“What do you mean?”

“I was at the rink late. After my dad… after he…”

“It’s okay, Draco. I know.” Why did she have to know? He wanted to know!

“Well, it was the middle of the night and I just needed to get my mind off things. So I was going to practice my routine. And I was. But then I fell on my quad. I knew it was all wrong when I jumped. I didn’t pull in right… Everything just went black. I don’t know how long I was unconscious but when I woke up, Harry was putting me in his car.”

“Harry?!”

It took every fibre of his being to keep from looking back at them. Harry? Malfoy was calling him Harry? He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him and he dared not to breathe lest he miss anything that followed.

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“I remember arguing about bleeding all over his car.”

“Oh, Draco.”

“And he knew way more about figure skating than he lets on. I think he saw my routine. I didn’t see him in the stands, but…”

“Is that such a bad thing? You look amazing when you skate.”

“I looked sloppy. I was angry and upset and I wasn’t focused. And that’s the skate he sees? My luck.”

“Draco, even at your sloppiest, you’re the best.”

“Now I know he’s just thinking: ‘no wonder Malfoy never got to the Olympics.’”

“That was your father’s fault, not yours.”

Another shot. “No need to worry about him anymore. Finally, _finally_ free to do what I want, but now I can’t even skate. What’s the point?” Thunk! Harry chanced a quick glance around the chair and saw Malfoy’s head on the counter. He was careful to turn back around before Pansy noticed him eavesdropping and took a sip of his beer.

“Draco, you are young, hot, and you can put your ankles behind your ears. Stop whinging,” Pansy hissed at him, comforting in her own way. Harry blushed as he sunk down in his armchair.

“Young? I’m twenty-three! Do you know what that means in figure skating years? Another shot, Pansy.”

“You’re such a baby,” Pansy sighed loudly.

“Old, gay, disowned, poor, half bald, broken leg, and attracted to a straight hockey player who thinks I’m an untalented-“

“Draco, I swear to god,” Pansy interrupted him, but Harry’s heart was already threatening to spill out of his throat. “Your leg will heal. Your hair will grow back. You’re only twenty-three. You’re better off disowned and poor than rich with your father being the way he is. It’s better to be free, isn’t it? You can compete in the Olympics now. And bring a boyfriend home.”

“Oh, yeah. I forgot homeless as well,” Malfoy groaned.

“I told you, you can stay with me.”

“I don’t accept charity,” Malfoy hissed back at her.

“You’re staying at a hotel-“

“SHH!”

Malfoy was disowned? Harry assumed it was for being gay. What else could it be? Malfoy was really having a bad day.

But… Malfoy was attracted to Harry? How the hell was Harry supposed to know that? He was always such a prick to him. Where and when did he let Harry know about this attraction?

“I’m going to the loo,” Harry heard Malfoy’s chair scoot back and listened to the thudding of the crutches as he left.

Well, this was his opportunity to get out. It seemed like Malfoy planned to be there for quite a while. Harry felt a shape loom over him just as he was about to bolt for the door. However, it wasn’t Malfoy. Pansy the bartender was standing over him, looking him up and down in scrutiny. “You’re cute.”

Harry stared at her uncomfortably. Was she coming on to him? “Err…”

“You look fit, too.”

“I’m sorry, but-“

“It’s true, you know.”

“What?” Harry was completely baffled by this one-sided conversation.

“He can put his ankles behind his ears,” she shoved a piece of paper in his hands. “He’s there every morning at nine. Probably not tomorrow, though. Looks like it’s going to be a rough night. Flirting tonight won’t work anyways. Now, get out before he realizes someone was eavesdropping on his pity party,” she shooed him and Harry got to his feet quickly, plan back into action, though he was much more confused about it. He disappeared from the establishment before Malfoy could reappear and stared down at the paper that had been crammed into his hands. It was an address… for a gym. Did Pansy know he was Harry Potter? Or did she think she was setting up Malfoy with a cute stranger?

It took Harry nearly a week to make a decision on what to do with the address. Malfoy was attracted to him. There was no other way to interpret the conversation he had heard. What should he do about it?

He tapped the paper against his hand when he got back home from practice. The question was… was he attracted to Malfoy? He grabbed his tea and sat down at his computer. He found videos of Malfoy’s skates online.

Malfoy was a vision on ice. He was graceful and soft as much as he was powerful and fierce. His teammates could mock the sparkling, skin tight men’s uniforms all they wanted, but Malfoy wore them like he was dressed in the finest suit. He brought life and emotions into his performances that didn’t feel forced or contrived. Harry could see when he was angry that he fell, but never looked like he was concentrating too hard. Malfoy took more risks and more falls than any other skater Harry had seen, but he just kept getting back up. His movements were fluid and effortless. He took spins and moves that were typically only seen in female skates and employed them perfectly. Harry watched him stumble through a quad landing and then pick right back up and bring his leg up into a full split.

So… was he attracted to Malfoy?

The answer to that question was yes.

“Looks like I’m going to the gym in the morning,” he said to no one in particular.

It wasn’t as if Harry had never been to the gym. He went a couple times a week, but not to this one. It was certainly one of those gyms that he thought was a bit too… pricey. It was certain to have spa facilities and the newest equipment. Harry just needed the basics – treadmill and weights.

Would Malfoy be at the gym with his injured leg?

Harry wasn’t going to think about it too hard. He grabbed his usual gym bag and got in his car. It wouldn’t be a waste of time if Malfoy wasn’t there anyways. At least he could get a workout. If Malfoy was there… what should he do? Maybe it would give Malfoy an opportunity to say something. He didn’t think it likely, but he was attracted to Malfoy and Malfoy was attracted to him. It shouldn’t take so much thinking. It shouldn’t be difficult. But it was.

He filled out a form at the front desk to take a trial run at the gym. Harry was only able to see the weight room and part of the swimming pool from the front desk, but Malfoy didn’t seem to be in the weight room and with his cast, he probably wasn’t swimming. He was directed to the locker rooms to change. He glanced at his watch as he walked out of the locker room. 9:15. Malfoy certainly couldn’t be done with his routine if he arrived at nine. He put his headphones in to look nonchalant, but didn’t turn them on so he could listen to those around him. The cardio area was partially full and Harry was tempted by a treadmill. Perhaps Malfoy was in the spa or one of the studios.

He decided to look in the latter – if he was in the spa, Harry would just have to wait, but at least in the studio he could stretch before beginning his own workout. The first one he came across had a cycling class going on, so he bypassed it. The next one appeared to be empty from the hallway, so he peered inside. There were two people doing their morning stretches. The third studio had the door closed and the sign for an ongoing class was up, however, Harry looked at the schedule posted by the door and saw the room was supposedly free. Now that seemed right. It was entirely possible that a class had forgotten to flip the sign, or the schedule was not updated for a new class. Or, more likely, someone very Malfoy-like didn’t want to be disturbed.

Ignoring the sign, Harry pushed his way inside. There was definitely not a class going on. He blinked rapidly when he saw Malfoy pushed down in a split.

“There’s-“ he started but his mouth hung open when he noticed the intruder on his session was Harry.

“Err.”

Malfoy’s legs snapped together and Malfoy managed to glare after getting over his shock. “What are you doing here, Potter?”

Harry tried to appear unperturbed by the situation. “Looking for a new gym.”

“Well, this is my gym.”

“Yeah, no, I noticed,” Harry folded his arms over his chest defensively. He noticed Malfoy didn’t get to his feet as he argued with Harry. His crutches were up against the wall closest to him.

“And my room,” he said pointedly.

“Didn’t you ever learn to share?”

“Malfoys-“

“I swear to god, Malfoy, if you say ‘Malfoys don’t share,’ I’ll scream.”

“Leave, Potter,” Malfoy scowled and Harry shrugged.

“I need to stretch before my workout. This room is free.”

“No, it isn’t,” Malfoy hissed, but Harry walked in front of the mirror, putting enough distance between him and Malfoy. He ignored the glares sent his direction and bent forward, reaching his fingers towards his toes. “Pathetic,” Malfoy commented and Harry lifted his head. Malfoy was also reaching for his toes, but he had managed to get his palms against the bottom of his feet and rested his head on his knees. He was smirking.

“It’s not a competition.”

“Yes, it is.”

“I’m going to ignore you.”

“Go ahead and try.”

It was actually very hard to try to ignore Malfoy when he was stretching in all kinds of positions, but Harry was able to act like he was ignoring Malfoy. Malfoy, however, broke quite quickly.

“Not going to say anything?”

Harry looked at him in the mirror. “About?”

“I don’t know. What you hockey players always say things about,” Malfoy rolled his eyes at Harry’s reflection. “Something about me being a giant fairy or something.”

Harry’s stomach clenched a bit, but he kept his expression disinterested. “Well, that’d be awfully hypocritical of me, wouldn’t it?”

Malfoy turned sharply, to stare at Harry rather than his reflection. “What?”

“It would be hypocritical to call you names when I fancy blokes, too, right?” Harry went into a stretch to hide his smirk. In doing so, though, he could only imagine Malfoy’s gape rather than getting the satisfaction of seeing it himself.

After several long moments, Malfoy finally spoke, “what are you talking about, Potter? You’ve been dating that Weasley girl for a year.”

“Thanks for keeping up with my personal life, Malfoy. We broke up,” Harry lifted his head and saw Malfoy’s ears turn pink. “But there is this magical type of person who likes men and women.”

“You’re bisexual?” Malfoy asked skeptically.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Harry shrugged, “I try to keep it close to the chest. I don’t want some sort of scandal about my personal life.”

“Do your teammates know?”

“Mm hm,” Harry nodded.

There was a long silence. Harry was starting to go through the options in his head. Should he leave? Should he stretch a bit more and then leave? Should he say something? What should he say?

“Do you want to go out?”

Harry dropped the arm he had been stretching when Malfoy spoke. “What?”

“You know what? Nevermind,” Malfoy was bright pink now.

“Did you just ask me out?”

“I said nevermind,” Malfoy pushed himself to his feet and grabbed his crutches.

“Ginny broke up with me two weeks ago. It’s still a bit… sore,” Harry struggled to find the right word.

“Oh.”

“But I wouldn’t mind something casual. Getting drinks or something.”

“That’s what I was suggesting. I wasn’t asking for your hand in marriage, Potter.”

“If I’m going to go on a date with you, you should probably call me Harry. Hand me your phone.”

“Why?”

“I’m going to steal it,” Harry said sarcastically. “I’m going to give you my number.”

Harry took Malfoy’s – Draco’s (after all, if Malfoy called him Harry, he should call him by his first name, too) phone and input his name and number. Struck by a sudden idea, Harry asked, “how’s tomorrow night?”

“I asked you out, shouldn’t I be setting up the time and place?” Malf- Draco asked incredulously as he took his phone back. He pressed the send button on his phone. “There, now you have my number.” Harry’s phone was in his locker.

“Well, I know a place, if you don’t mind me taking charge.”

The look on Draco’s face said he definitely, definitely minded. But he managed a “fine. Whatever.”

Harry had decided to take Draco to the bar that apparently Draco frequented. Why? He wasn’t entirely sure. Maybe because Draco liked it. Maybe because Draco would realize (or Pansy would tell him) that Harry had overheard him talking about a week ago. Would Draco take the wrong thing from that? Hopefully not. Harry liked honesty. And he wanted Draco to know he’d been eavesdropping (not necessarily on purpose) and to know what had been overheard. Otherwise, if they went on any other dates, Harry would certainly feel enough guilt that he would eventually blurt it out. Better to get it over with.

He met Draco at the rink on Friday night, since they couldn’t agree on any other meeting place. Draco had taken a cab since he was having difficulty driving, he said. Harry wondered if perhaps he didn’t have a car. At least, after being disowned, maybe he didn’t anymore. Harry, of course, had offered to pick him up. But he knew that would be refused. Draco was living in a hotel after all. And he wouldn’t want anyone to know that.

“This wretched thing again,” Draco hissed as he slid into the passenger’s seat.

“Taking a cab would cost a fortune. You can deal with it for a few minutes.”

Draco glanced at the door and the seat, possibly looking for the blood Harry had spent two hours scrubbing up. He briefly brushed his fingertips across his stitches and dropped his hand quickly.

“I like your haircut.”

Draco glared at him. “Oh spare me, P- Harry,” he snapped.

“No, I actually do,” Harry insisted. “Very edgy. Could be a whole new look for you.”

Draco frowned, but seemed to find Harry genuine under his scrutiny, so didn’t reply.

Much of the short drive was spent in awkward silence. Several times, Harry opened his mouth to say something, but failed to deliver. Draco seemed perfectly content to remain quiet until Harry turned down the street of the bar and came to a stop. He narrowed his eyes at Harry suspiciously, but didn’t say anything.

Draco grabbed his crutches from the back seat and got them under his arms to limp beside Harry. “Where are we going?”

“Just a pub,” Harry replied simply.

“Couldn’t spare a dime to take me somewhere nice, huh?” Draco scoffed as Harry held the door open for him. Draco tucked both crutches under one arm and grabbed the railing, hopping down the stairs, looking not entirely happy.

Harry offered him his hand, but Draco glared at it.

“I can manage the stairs by myself.”

“I know. But it gives me an excuse to touch you,” Harry said simply, as an excuse. Draco really did look like he could use some help. But he couldn’t hurt his pride like that.

“Are all hockey players this chivalrous?” He asked, but conceded to Harry’s help, leaning on him as they got down the stairs as a much more rapid speed.

“No. Just me.” Harry pushed open the door and Draco moved past him, supported by his crutches once more. Without a word, Draco went over to the bar and slid into a stool.

“Pansy, give me something strong.”

Harry walked up behind him and Pansy lit up when he saw him. “You took my advice!”

Draco now looked very suspicious and his gaze flitted between them. “You two know each other?”

Harry knew there was no backing out now, which was fine with him.

“Yeah. He was checking you out last week so I gave him your number.”

“You were… you were here last week?” Draco looked at Harry, but turned to Pansy before he answered. “You gave Harry Potter my phone number?”

“Harry Potter? That’s Harry Potter?” Pansy’s eyes were wide in shock.

“Figures you wouldn’t know Britain’s most famous hockey player when he walked into your pub,” Draco muttered under his breath.

“It just kind of happened,” Harry replied apologetically. “One of my teammates told me about this place and I came in and… you just happened to walk in.”

“What a coincidence,” Draco said coldly.

“Well, you’ll have to talk to my teammate about that. Maybe he had something to do with it.”

“Which one?” Draco asked, but Harry faltered. Could he tell Draco that? What if Oliver was gay? What if it was a secret? He couldn’t really go around telling people that.

“I can’t say,” he replied hesitantly, reluctantly.

“Whatever,” Draco grumbled. “Since we’re here, let’s have a drink. Date’s going swimmingly, by the way. Good work,” he said sarcastically, but Harry wouldn’t let it get to him. If Draco was as into him as he let on, then he wasn’t all that concerned. Draco was probably just giving him a hard time.

“When is the cast coming off?” Harry asked, changing the topic as Pansy sat a drink down in front of Draco.

Draco looked like he was about to say something scathing, but changed his mind halfway through. “Four weeks or so.”

“Do you miss skating?”

Draco put his drink back down with a thud, staring at Harry with ill-concealed incredulity. “You’re kidding, right?”

“Well, I was just wondering if you were enjoying a break,” Harry said sheepishly, but he could already tell that was the case.

“No, I am not ‘enjoying the break.’” Man, talking to Draco was like trying to pet a porcupine. So prickly. “You think someone goes to the rink at midnight because they want a break?” Draco clenched his fist – like he was wishing he had a knife to stab something. “How do you think I feel about it, Potter?” He spat the name. “It feels like I’m having my heart ripped out through my throat every day I’m away from the ice. Might as well just have stabbed me with a skate and been done with it.”

Decision made, Harry stood up immediately. “Come on,” he said and Draco narrowed his eyes.

“We just got here. I haven’t finished my drink.”

Harry slammed down a few bills and took Draco’s arm. “Don’t worry about it. We can have a drink any time.”

“What was the point of coming here?” Draco asked rhetorically, but got on his crutches anyways, following Harry back up the stairs and to his car. “Just so you’re aware, I haven’t had nearly enough to drink to go back to your place with you.”

Harry laughed as he started the car. “I wasn’t going to ask you to.”

Harry took them back to the rink, Draco spending most of the ride glaring out the passenger window. “What are we doing here?” He hissed.

“Just… trust me, okay?” Harry smiled, waiting as Draco got back onto his crutches. Despite Draco’s clear distaste, he followed Harry once more. They made their way across the empty parking lot and Harry unlocked the back door. “You have a spare pair of skates in your locker, right?”

“I don’t know what you think-“

“Draco,” Harry interrupted quietly. “Please just be quiet for like… five minutes? I know what I’m doing.”

Draco pressed his lips together, but he didn’t look pleased about it. They got into the locker room in silence and Harry went to his locker, putting on his spare pair of skates. Draco opened his as well, holding them up and looking at Harry expectantly.

“Put one on,” Harry instructed, nodding to Draco’s good foot. Harry was pretty sure he caught Draco rolling his eyes in his peripheral vision, but he didn’t address it.

When Harry finished lacing his skates, he stood up, but Draco frowned up at him from the bench.

“I can barely walk on skates with two good feet, Potter-“

“Harry,” he corrected absently.

“-how am I supposed to get out onto the ice like this?”

“I’ll help you-“

“You’re not helping me.”

“How are you going to skate without my help-“

“I’m not going to skate, Potter-“

“Harry-“

“I don’t need to break my other ankle-“

“You’ll be fine if you would let me-“

“This is the dumbest idea I’ve ever heard-“

“Just trust me for once-“

“-completely idiotic-“

“-so frustrating-“

“-going to pick me up and carry me to the rink-“

“If you don’t shut up, Draco, I might!” Harry snapped and Draco pursed his lips. Finally, he got onto his one skate, leaning heavily against the lockers.

“Well, come on! Help me out to the rink. It’s your bloody plan,” Draco held out his arm, so Harry slid his shoulder under it and let Draco lean on him for support. It was slow moving, of course, with Draco trying to move on one foot with a skate. But they made it to the edge of the ice. Without any new broken ankles.

Harry opened the gate and snatched the remote to the sound system on his way, tucking it into his pocket. He stepped out onto the ice when Draco supported himself against the wall. He held out his hand for Draco, who took it with a large dose of hesitance. “You can trust me. Come on.”

“I’m coming!” Draco snapped and lurched forward when he got on the ice, Harry catching him easily. They hobbled for a minute, but Draco knew how to keep his balance on one skate. And Harry had had much larger guys slam into him with much harder force. He could keep his balance when someone was holding onto him. He started moving backwards, letting his grip slip some so that his hands were holding Draco’s.

Draco wobbled momentarily, but caught his balance by grabbing onto Harry’s forearm tightly. Harry freed his other hand and got the remote from his pocket, pointing it towards the sound system so that Draco’s song played.

“Oh, thanks. I wanted those memories,” Draco said sourly, but Harry was unperturbed.

“That was the whole point. To bring up bad memories for you,” Harry deadpanned. “Stop acting so cranky. Try having fun instead,” Harry started skating backwards and Draco was able to glide along, perfectly balanced, while Harry directed their movements and kept their momentum up. “Enjoying yourself?” Harry asked with a more confident smile now that Draco’s scowl had disappeared.

“It’s like skating with a baboon.”

“A talented baboon? Because I was thinking of us trying out for pairs skate. What do you think?” Harry joked.

“I think you’re bonkers.”

“That’s okay. You’ll probably think I’m insane for this, too,” Harry pulled Draco much closer to him, so that their chests touched. They stared at each other for a moment as their momentum slowed.

“Damn, Potter, you’d better kiss me right now or I’ll break both your ankles.”

Harry obliged, pressing his lips against Draco’s, feeling the coldness of his cheeks from the cool air. His lips were a shocking heat against the cool air, like a furnace. Draco wrapped his arms tightly around Harry and parted his lips, sliding his tongue inside Harry’s mouth. Harry met the slick feel of his tongue with his own. It wasn’t until they completely stopped that they pulled apart.

“Hey, Harry,” Draco breathed after a long, quiet moment.

“Yeah?”

“I’m rethinking that whole… ‘not going back to your place’ thing.”

Draco did go with Harry back to his place. And he never actually left. Draco had insisted on staying for breakfast. And then protested he was too tired to leave when Harry went to practice, so Harry let him stay until he rested up. Draco, of course, was still there when he got home in the evening, so Harry invited him to dinner. After dinner they went back to his place… and rinse and repeat until all of Draco’s things were at Harry’s and Draco became Harry’s boyfriend/roommate. He didn’t leave when his ankle had healed and he went back to skating. Harry didn’t ask him to, either. Things were far from perfect. Their arguments continued, but the makeup sex was fantastic. Draco still hated Harry’s car and his clothes, but he warmed up to his friends, which was more important anyways. Even though Harry knew being disowned had hurt Draco pretty badly, Draco had reconciled with his mother and she promised she was working on his father. But, without his father breathing down his neck, Draco started training for the Olympics.

It was give and take, Harry supposed, and that was the way of life. But no matter how many arguments he and Draco got into, he still enjoyed coming home every night to him. It felt good. It felt like home.


End file.
